


A Breath of Winter

by rrrNightingale



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrrNightingale/pseuds/rrrNightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to go a long way to reach something that seems to be near.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath of Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Дыхание зимы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119624) by [rrrNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrrNightingale/pseuds/rrrNightingale). 



> Thanks for the wonderful beta to wojelah!  
> The fic was written (and translated from Russian) for the livejournal community wintercompanion in December, 2011.

When Jack goes outside, he is welcomed by a new smell, which is impossible to mix up with anything else. It is undoubtedly the first breath of winter.

The sky is covered with clouds and glows dully, lit, as they do it now, by a luminescent system. It is never dark in cities, even at night.

The air has become cold and a silence has fallen, the kind of silence that can only happen in a gap between autumn and winter in this region of Earth. It is the time when the circle comes to its end and starts anew.

Jack slowly walks down Victoria Street. There are a lot of ancient buildings remaining in the historical centre. There are even small natural trees in front of some of them – branches like black lines slash opalescent sky, smooth lawns are empty below them.

As always, the breath of winter brings some reminiscences from the past, and, being here, in the very heart of Great Britain, Jack remembers how real normal trees grew a couple of blocks from here, forming a large park where he fought a duel once. A carpet of fallen leaves felt dense under his feet and he was distressed and drunk, and his rival was even more so… Victorian England turned out to be not ready for a time traveler from the future. It had been so very long ago, back in the nineteenth century, when only a few years had passed since he had settled on Earth after the encounter with the Daleks – he didn’t even know he was immortal then. He thought that he knew Earth well, but really got used to it much later.

Now this place has truly become his home.

The streets are not so crowded as usual, and Jack keeps on walking, down to the Thames. He can see his breath and wraps his overcoat tighter around him – the black one. He abandoned the previous overcoat about two hundred years ago. It got out of date, and one day Jack left it behind as a snake shuffles off its old skin, because he felt it did not fit the man he had become. The new one reminded him of it in a way, though. But gradually Jack’s appearance has lost its military touch.

When Jack reaches Westminster Bridge, he stands still by the parapet and watches the light flickering on the water and the city on the opposite riverside. 

It’s moments like this that he feels out of place – improperly alive.

Everything comes and goes, everything has its time. There are so many faces in his mind’s eye – of those who lived and felt and crumbled to dust so long ago. And there are so many more of them yet to come.

Even the city is aging before his eyes. It is inevitable. He feels it, as if he watches the picture on a larger scale. Probably, he does… Nevertheless, it was his choice, he didn’t give up this strange, never-ending life when he had the chance, and he does not forget that. After all, this accidental curse has given him so many good moments also.

Still, 700 years on Earth have done their part. He has walked the length and breadth of this planet, and though it is dear to him, it feels too small.

Cars are buzzing softly on a flyover highway, people are passing by with their hands stuck deep into their pockets, and tiny snowflakes start falling from the illuminated sky. It is an exceptionally cold, quiet, slow night. Jack doesn’t look back when someone stops near him. 

"Lovely view", the stranger remarks approvingly after a moment, and it is the first time Jack hears his voice.

Yet a moment later he understands. Perhaps, it is intuition or a sixth sense. Maybe Jack just recognizes him, as he always does.

"Long time, no see," Jack says and can’t help but smile.

"Hello," the Doctor replies gladly.

They stay there, near each other, watching the water run, as if there is nothing extraordinary about this meeting, as if it was only yesterday when they said their goodbyes to each other, not six centuries ago. Strange as it may seem, at the same time it also feels like they have come a long way since then.

Then Jack turns to the Time Lord, smiles and embraces him. All the offences, all the disappointment are long since gone.  
Somehow he feels that the Doctor has changed too, and this new, unknown Doctor really wants to travel with him.

Because it is time to come back to the Tardis. The Doctor doesn’t have to speak the invitation aloud. Jack just knows.

"I wonder if the whole world seems small to him," thinks Jack, when they are walking along Bridge Street in comfortable friendly silence. It does not feel right to break the peace of the first breath of winter.

The little blue box is waiting for them in an old alley and hospitably opens its doors. The Doctor lets him into the spacious light console room, and follows him.

"Jack, the Universe is too big even for a Time Lord," the Doctor says behind his back and laughs.


End file.
